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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456803">If I am waiting (should I be waiting)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowriterly/pseuds/notsowriterly'>notsowriterly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AWAE Modern AU Drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anne with an E (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mutual Pining, even more inappropriate longing gazes, inappropriate hand touching and ankle showing, pining intensifies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:14:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowriterly/pseuds/notsowriterly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collection of AWAE Season 2 Modern AU drabbles. </p><p> </p><p>  <i> Even still, through the crippling mortification, was that warmth. Gilbert took her words to heart. He came home. He was here. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“There’s no gold,” she blurted out breathlessly.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Gilbert faltered for a second, his gaze catching the floor. “I know.” Then he looked up, meeting her gaze again. “There were other things, that called me back.” </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diana Barry &amp; Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe &amp; Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Marilla Cuthbert &amp; Matthew Cuthbert &amp; Anne Shirley, Mary Lacroix/Sebastian ''Bash'' Lacroix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AWAE Modern AU Drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I Protest Against Any Absolute Conclusion (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All she’d wanted, was to be a brunette. That was all she’d wanted. And now she was stuck being not only red haired, but short haired. She’d seen women with gorgeous pixie cuts, golden curling hair or stark black hair, but red hair? That would’ve been intolerable by itself, but Anne’s hair wasn’t even a proper pixie cut. It was a monstrosity of a haircut, shorn to barely a layer of fuzz on her head. It made her look like a baby bird, and not in a good way. </p><p>“It’s not that bad, Anne,” Marilla said, setting out the plate for breakfast. </p><p>Anne scowled. “I look like the Ugly Duckling.” </p><p>“The Ugly Duckling grew into a very beautiful Swan. Isn’t that a lesson in focusing on vanity?” Marilla said, and Anne rolled her eyes. </p><p>It was all well and good for Marilla, she wasn’t the one going to school like this. Anne was sure that Marilla hadn’t ever gone to school like this, no matter the fact that her hair cuts had always been done at home. Those haircuts were done with scissors, not Matthew’s 4 millimeter razor. </p><p>And worst of all, Anne’s head felt <em>freezing</em>. </p><p>🙚🙘</p><p>“You know you’re going to have to take off that hat eventually, Anne,” Diana said patiently. Anne pursed her lips. She’d texted Diana as soon as it happened, but couldn’t bear taking a picture and having it immortalized in any form. </p><p>“You don’t understand how bad it is,” Anne said. “Honestly, you should save yourself the humiliation of even being seen with me, <em>that’s</em> how awful it is.” </p><p>Diana raised her eyebrows. “I thought we promised, ‘till death do us part?’”</p><p>“Death isn’t doing us part, my awful haircut is,” Anne reminded her. </p><p>Diana put a hand on her shoulder. “That too.”</p><p>Anne scoffed, and pulled the cap off of her head. <em>Now</em>, Diana would understand. </p><p>Diana didn’t flinch, staring at Anne’s hair steadily. Then she pulled the beautiful blue floral headband out of her hair and pulled it over Anne’s head. Once Diana was done setting it in place, her face bloomed into a bright smile. “There. Not bad at all. All you needed was the right accessories.” Anne frowned, but Diana didn’t falter. “I mean it. It really brings out your eyes.” </p><p>Before Anne could refute <em>that</em>, the bell rang, and there was no prolonging this further. </p><p>Professor Phillips wasn’t there yet, so the class was still moving toward their respective seats, but at the sight of Anne, they stopped dead. And then the class parted, allowing her to see…  </p><p>
  <em>Gilbert.</em>
</p><p>Of all times for him to come home. Between the nearly two semesters off, Gilbert somehow went from a boy to a man. He looked almost alien, his tanned face and work weathered hands. But his eyes were still the same devastating deep color they always were, and his smile, when he saw her, was warm and easy as ever. </p><p>It almost made it worse that he was so nonchalant about her drastic haircut. As if she didn’t look much better before, so this hardly made a difference.</p><p>But even still, through the crippling mortification, was that warmth. Gilbert took her words to heart. He <em>came home</em>. He was here. </p><p>“There’s no gold,” she blurted out breathlessly.</p><p>Gilbert faltered for a second, his gaze catching the floor. “I know.” Then he looked up, meeting her gaze again. “There were other things that called me back.” </p><p>Anne opened her mouth—To say what, she wasn’t sure. Around Gilbert Blythe, her words had a tendency to become clumsy and trip over any meaning she wanted to convey.  </p><p>It didn’t end up mattering. Professor Phillips walked in, and the moment he caught sight of her, he barked out a laugh. </p><p>“Well, I see there’s two new boys in class today.” The class tittered, and Anne felt her entire face heat, surely making her freckles stark orange against her blush red cheeks. The tittering continued for a full minute as students moved to their seats, leaving Gilbert and Anne the only ones standing, the both of them stiff. Anne knew she was frozen from embarrassment, but she couldn’t tell what was the cause of the tension running through Gilbert and rooting him to where he stood. Professor Phillips turned around, raising an eyebrow. “Mr. Blythe, I believe you’re joining us next semester?” </p><p>It took Gilbert a moment to reply. “Yes, sir. I was just visiting.” </p><p>Professor Phillips clicked his tongue. “May I remind you, Mr. Blythe, that this isn’t your personal office hours. We have learning to do, come back when you’re ready to partake.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Gilbert said stiffly, and then pulled Anne away from where she stood, jolting her out of her humiliation induced statuesque state. He lead her to her seat like her own personal escort in her walk of shame, and murmured, a soft, “It’s good to see you, Anne,” that she barely heard over the sound of the whispers hissing behind her.  </p><p>The rest of the day did not get any better. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I Protest Against Any Absolute Conclusion (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Anne could hear the doorbell ring downstairs, just as she was putting the last touches of mascara. She hated that she was meeting Sebastian looking like this, hair incongruously short next to her most feminine, fancy dress and made up eyes. Sebastian had probably seen all manner of people, and Anne had to be extra interesting, extra put together if she wanted to make a good impression. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Especially after all Gilbert must have been telling about her.</i><br/></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is for DK, whose comments made my day, and who serendipitously requested as a prompt, the very scene I was going to do next. </p><p>Honestly, I don't feel like I did this scene very much justice, but I promised myself that this fic series wouldn't be something that I used to feel bad about myself, just something that I did to have fun and express my love for awae. I may come back and do this scene over, or do it in another point of view, but until then, unfortunately, tis what you get. My apologies.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The Holly and the Ivy, when they are both full grown, of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown…” Anne sang, whisking the eggs, and Marilla cleared her throat, cutting her off. Anne looked up, frowning. Marilla was wringing her hands, which usually happened when she was trying to be more maternal than her pragmatic, succinct nature allowed. </p><p>“Anne, you know that Sebastian, he’s… well, he’s from Trinidad,” Marilla said. She sounded delicate, somehow, and Anne beamed, going back to stirring. This was going to be the best mince pie Sebastian had ever tasted. </p><p>“Oh, I <em>know</em>. I bet he’s seen all sorts of amazing things.” Anne stopped stirring for a moment, looking up into the distance. “Trinidad… wow. And I thought it was crazy to come to Avonlea, can you imagine Trinidad? I looked at all the tourist sites, their food sounds positively scrumptious, fresh mango and coconut, can you <em>imagine?</em>” </p><p>Marilla stared at her for a second, and then looked back at her bowl, mixing with a bit more vigour than necessary. “Right. Right, of course. But, um. Over all, you have to remember, he’s an islander, just like you or me.” </p><p>Anne rolled her eyes. “I’m not a rabid dog, Marilla, you don’t have to worry about ‘setting me onto the guests.’ I promise to keep my yapping to a minimum. It’s not like I’m going to embarrass myself in front of Gilbert.” </p><p>Marilla seemed to relax at that, muttering, “Right, of course you wouldn’t,” and turning back to the oven. Anne paused, scowling at her suspiciously. </p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I only ever keep myself in line when Gilbert is around? He’s been gone eight months and I’ve managed perfectly fine, thank you.” </p><p>“Ah, yes, we’ve only had to phase being tied up in our own home, catching two violent scam artists, and facing the entire town’s wrath. Barely anything at all,” Marilla said. </p><p>Anne spluttered. “Are you serious? None of those were my fault! I’ve been positively well-behaved!” </p><p>Marilla paused, and then sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. Just… don’t break that streak, you understand? I know sometimes social rules are hard for you, but this time… try very hard to follow courtesy.” </p><p>Anne wrinkled her nose. “<em>Yes</em>, Marilla.” </p><p>🙚🙘</p><p>Anne could hear the doorbell ring downstairs, just as she was putting the last touches of mascara. She hated that she was meeting Sebastian looking like this, hair incongruously short next to her most feminine, fancy dress and made up eyes. Sebastian had probably seen all manner of people, and Anne had to be extra interesting, extra put together if she wanted to make a good impression. </p><p>Especially after all Gilbert must have been telling about her. </p><p>As far as Marilla told her, this was the first time anyone had Sebastian over in Avonlea, and so Anne was going to be the one he based his impression of Avonlea on. She had to represent her people, her <em>home</em>, to the best of her ability. </p><p>She took another look in the mirror, making sure that her make up was up to par before putting on her earrings. She was late, which was probably already making a bad first impression. She scampered down the stairs and into the living room, stopping short when she caught sight of him. </p><p>Sebastian was positively <em>glowing</em>. It was like he brought the warmth of the island with him, in his smile, his eyes. He looked like a painting. </p><p>“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Anne said. Gilbert choked, from where he was standing next to Sebastian, and Sebastian stared at her. “You have the most perfect skin tone I’ve ever seen and your pores are literally nonexistent!” </p><p>“Anne!” Marilla hissed, and Anne frowned. </p><p>“What, it’s true! I’m sorry, was that offensive? I’ve never met anyone from Trinidad before, I’m really curious, but you must tell me if I’m being offensive,” Anne said. </p><p>Sebastian let out a huff of breath that might’ve been laughter, grinning down at her. “Oh, no, feel free to call me ‘the most beautiful man you’ve met,’ at any time. Especially if it’s in front of Gilbert.” Gilbert snorted and elbowed him, and Sebastian winked at him before turning to Matthew and Marilla. “The rest of you can call me Bash, though.” </p><p>Marilla smiled, bright and pleased. “Bash it is. Come now, let’s head to the dinner table.” </p><p>“We made mince pie,” Anne said eagerly. “Have you ever tried any?” </p><p>Bash shook his head. “No, but my nose tells me I’ll love it.” </p><p>Marilla chuckled, and led him into the dining room calling out behind her, “Anne, make sure you turn off all the lights.” </p><p>Anne looked back at the room and groaned. When she was setting up, she was full of Christmas spirit and kept lights everywhere. Now the time it would take to turn them all off was going to cut into precious time she could spend learning about Trinidad. </p><p>She moved to turn off the ones by the far side wall, and Gilbert crouched next to her. “Let me help, where are the other outlets?” </p><p>Anne pointed to the bookcase on the opposite wall. “You can start there, and then there’s another one by the door.” Then, remembering she’d promised Marilla to be polite, she added, “thank you.” </p><p>Gilbert gave her an amused smile, like her thanking him was ridiculous, and moved to the other side of the room, audibly clicking the buttons for each string of lights. </p><p>Both of them steadily made their way through the room, turning off the lights, until they got to the star on top of the tree, both of them reaching for it at the same time from opposite sides. Anne didn’t notice until she felt callouses under her fingertips instead of the smooth metal of the star. The star clicked off underneath Gilbert’s finger tips, and Anne realized she was still pressing against his hand and snatched her hand away. </p><p>Gilbert came around the tree, eyes dark and shadowed in the dimly lit room. He’d grown taller, impossibly. Just by an inch, but it was enough that Anne had to tilt her head up to look at him more than she already did. </p><p>“I got something for you,” he said softly, holding out a small wrapped package. Anne looked down at it, mouth parting. Her eyes flickered to meet his again. </p><p>“I can’t take this, I didn’t get you anything,” she said. </p><p>Gilbert shook his head, smiling. “I don’t mind. Here, take it.” </p><p>Anne reached out and took it, smiling despite herself at the extra neat wrapping. Her wrapping was impatient and bore witness to small tears and creases, covered up by ribbons and plastic berries and decorated labels. Gilbert however, used only simple red wrapping paper, which made it extra easy to see the inscription: <em>For Anne (with an E)</em>. </p><p>She raised an eyebrow at him, holding up the gift. “Anne with an E? Not Carrots?” </p><p>He smirked. “Not this time. Out of Christmas goodwill.”</p><p>Anne snorted, and then met his eyes steadily, letting him see the warmth in them, the sincerity, when she said, “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll love it.” </p><p>He seemed pleased, but then his smile faltered, taking on the forced lighter quality that she’d seen only a few times. “Even if it didn’t come from Bash?” </p><p>Anne furrowed her eyebrows. “What?” </p><p>Gilbert looked away, at the macaroni christmas ornament hanging on the tree. “You did say he was the most beautiful man you’d ever met.” </p><p>It took a moment to understand what he was saying, and when she did, Anne’s face pinched. “What, no! I didn’t mean it like… That’s just a fact. He’s objectively very handsome. Not that I’d want to—No, no. Gosh, Gil, of all the things to joke about, he’s ten years older than us, and he’s <em>your brother</em>.”  </p><p>He looked back at her, eyes still somber. “It’d be okay, you know, if you did…” </p><p>Anne punched him in the arm lightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Blythe, I mean it.” Her matter-of-fact tone seemed to convince him, and his shoulders came down, his genuine, lopsided smile flickering back onto his face. </p><p>“I’m just glad you guys are being so welcoming. I really want him to feel at home here.” </p><p>Anne put a hand on his arm. “He will, Gilbert. After all, he’s your brother, isn’t he?” </p><p>Gilbert beamed at the declaration. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.” </p><p>Anne pulled back. “Then Avonlea’s his home.” She headed toward the kitchen, shooting Gilbert a wink over her shoulder. “He’s family to Avonlea’s Golden Boy after all.” </p><p>Gilbert snorted. “Oh, yeah? If I’m the Golden Boy, what does that make you?” </p><p>“The Red Headed Devil,” she said confidently, just to hear him laugh behind her. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You may be asking, why did I do that weird bit where Gil thinks Anne has a crush on Bash? Because in the year of our Lord, two thousand whenever-this-fic-is-set, Anne can not get away with the excuse of not seeing a POC before, so Gil can't attribute her compliments on Bash's features to novelty. I still kind of wanted Anne to think Sebastian is good-looking however, because as a POC, it feels kind of disingenuous if you only think I'm good looking because I look foreign. </p><p>Are Anne and Gilbert less cutely awkward and more comfortable with each other? Yes, forgive me. I'm a dialogue heavy person, and pulling off awae's "ten words to say ten thousand things" is SO HARD. I LIVE for banter.<br/>Also, coming from a gender segregated culture, and living in a slightly less gender segregated culture, I feel like there would be more closeness between Anne and Gilbert because it's not as improper? If that makes sense? But that's just me. </p><p>As always, you can leave prompts on my tumblr, or in the comments below!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Signs Are Small Measurable Things, But Interpretations Are Illimitable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright, so. I really don't know about this one. I understand that in the show, Bash's meeting with his mother was supposed to be a way to show the realities of race in a colonized country, and it was masterfully done. However, I couldn't find enough resources to earn the right to write about race relations in modern day Trinidad. That is, if I ever even could earn that right. So I kept it open to interpretation, and showed nothing more than Bash's fraught relationship with his mother. If, despite my best efforts, there's anything that is offensive or harmful in this piece, just let me know and I will modify it or take it down, no questions asked.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite all logic, thirty minutes after he got off the boat, Gilbert still felt like the land below him was rocking like a cradle. When the passengers had docked, the cruise liner had organized for performers in Carnival attire, and musicians were playing steel drums to welcome the guests onto land. Gilbert watched the performance with fascination, though Bash had just rolled his eyes and said that the performance didn’t hold up a candle to the real Carnival. </p><p>When Bash and Gilbert had gotten off of the boat for their one day off, there was no faux-celebration. The port was empty save for workers preparing for the next incoming ship. Still, Gilbert wasn’t much looking at that. His eyes were caught by the palm trees littering the place the same way pine trees littered every corner of Avonlea, and the bright blue of the sea. He’d barely seen anything, and it already looked like nothing he’d ever seen, worlds away from a tiny island off of Canadian harbours. </p><p>Brightly coloured buildings were interspersed with gleaming glass commercial ones, and as they went further into the heart of the city, away from what seemed to be the business district, and what seemed to be more of the tourist district, more performers littered the streets, and food stalls sold all sorts of brightly colored delicacies. </p><p>He tried stopping at one, but Bash yanked him back. “Oh no, you don’t.” </p><p>Gilbert frowned up at him. “What?” </p><p>“You’re not trying no food until you try my mom’s,” Bash said. “Blow all these fools right out of the water.” </p><p>“But I’m <em>hungry</em>,” Gilbert said, and was only aware he sounded like a cranky four-year-old after he said it. Bash shot him an amused look, but decided to be merciful just this once and not comment.</p><p>“You’ll thank me once you taste my mother’s food.”  Despite that, however, he stopped by a near by fruit stall, and grabbed a mango, passing the vendor some money. </p><p>He pressed the mango into Gilbert’s hand, and Gilbert raised an eyebrow. </p><p>“Not as good as my mom’s cooking, but given you’ve probably never had an ounce of flavor in your life, I figured you have to try a real mango, just once.” </p><p>Gilbert gave him a droll look. “I’ve tried a mango before.” </p><p>Bash raised an eyebrow. “Have you now? Try this one and tell me then.” </p><p>Gilbert side-eyed him, and bit into the mango, gasping at the sweetness and underlying tart, sliding across his tongue. He couldn’t help the soft groan he let out at the taste, and bit into it again, despite Bash’s laughing suggestion to not eat the peel. </p><p>“I’m not wasting a single bit of it,” Gilbert said around a mouthful, the juice dripping down his chin. He was sure he wasn’t helping the toddler impression and that the mess was going to become sticky and uncomfortable later, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. Bash was right, he didn’t know mangos could taste like this, decadent and nearly drugging. He wasn’t sure how anything could be better than this. </p><p>Bash took them out of the market place and towards a hotel, towering above the buildings around it, made of glittering green-blue glass the color of the sea. </p><p>Bash looked at it like wanted to burn it to the ground. </p><p>“This looks like a hotel. Your mother stays here?” Gilbert asked. </p><p>Bash shook his head, his normally friendly face becoming hard, shuttered. “She works here.” </p><p>Gilbert hummed. </p><p>They didn’t go into the front, where all the guests walked through, dropping keys off at the valet and sauntering in, necks and wrists glittering. Instead, they went around back, where a delivery truck seemed to be dropping off groceries. No one even gave them a second glance. </p><p>Bash’s movements were sure, sharp and defined, and Gilbert was reminded of the way Bash moved boxes when his muscles were protesting any more work and their supervisor was being more sadistic than usual. Like his mind was blank and all he had left to give was his gritted determination. </p><p>The kitchen was boiling hot, thanks to the various dishes steaming on bright flames, and the crush of kitchen staff, dancing around each other and barking orders. Bash peered in, and Gilbert couldn’t help but peek around him, trying to spot a woman that matched Bash’s features or skin tone. </p><p>Bash’s mother—or rather, who he presumed was Bash’s mother—looked nothing like Bash. She froze at the sight of him, stout where Bash was tall and wide where Bash was wiry. The only similar thing they shared was their wary, longing expressions when they looked toward each other. Gilbert understood the latter—from what he knew, Bash hadn’t been to visit his mother in a long time—it was the former that caught him off guard. </p><p>The woman ducked out of the kitchen into the hallway they were in, and with out so much as a hello, dragged Bash down a separate corridor, less well lit. </p><p>“Sebastian! What do you think you’re doing, giving me a heart attack at work!” she hissed. </p><p>“It’s good to see you too, Mom,” Bash said. Gilbert couldn’t read his tone. Bash’s mother’s face softened, and she reached up to put her hands on the side of his face, eyes flitting over him. Once she seemed satisfied with what she saw, she nodded, and then caught sight of Gilbert hovering in the background, half in the corridor, half out. </p><p>She narrowed her eyes at him, and Gilbert felt his stomach drop, as she snapped, “Who is this boy you bring here, looking like a wet fowl? What they call you?” </p><p>Gilbert bowed his head, trying to put on his well-mannered farm boy charm. “Gilbert Blythe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” </p><p>Bash’s mother scoffed. “‘Ma’am.’ You the first one to call me that, boy.” </p><p>“Mom…” Bash said, and Hazel smacked his side. </p><p>“Don’t you, ‘Mom,’ me, bringing this boy here, he look like he hasn’t been fed in five years. Do all you white boys grow up and not out?” </p><p>“I’m pretty sure it’s just me, Ma’am. But Bash promised me the best in Trinidadian bush medicine,” Gilbert said. His legs stopped wobbling a good half hour ago, but he still felt like he was on unsteady ground. He couldn’t get a read on Bash anymore, and even less of read on Bash’s mom. </p><p>Bash’s mom scoffed again, and Gilbert tried not to let his shoulders draw up to his ears. What had he said wrong now? Apparently his farm boy charm didn’t transcend borders. At the very least, it was clearly useless here in Trinidad. Maybe Anne had Trinidadian ancestors some where, that would explain a lot. </p><p>“‘Bush medicine,’” Bash’s mother echoed mockingly, and then granted him the first smile he’d seen out of her, small as it was. “If you’re going to eat my food, then you’re going to have to call me Hazel. Stay here.” </p><p>And then she whisked back out of the corridor, leaving behind a tense silence and a Bash that was as still as a statue. </p><p>Gilbert coughed, hoping to break Bash—<em>Sebastian</em>, apparently, what the hell—out of it. “Your mom seems nice.” </p><p>Bash snorted. “Yeah. Nice.” </p><p>Gilbert looked down. When Bash’s mom came back, it was with small disposable containers which she shoved into their arms. </p><p>“Here. Now, get movin’, or else these people going to call security after you,” she whispered. </p><p>“Hazel! Where’d you get off to!” called someone from the direction of the kitchen, and Hazel’s eyes widened, pushing Gilbert out of view with a firm hand before whirling back toward the corridor with a, “Coming, Miss. Dubois!” </p><p>Bash and Gilbert stayed still for what seemed like an eternity, holding containers still warm from the food. Then, all at once, Bash sprung into motion, dragging Gilbert out of the corridor, out of the hotel, and down four different streets until the houses got smaller, more worn down. It was then he finally stopped, and seemed to breath out. There was something in his eyes that was sharp, fragile. </p><p>Gilbert looked down at the food. “Should we find somewhere to sit down?” </p><p>Bash looked down at him, and then let out a sharp breath. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.” </p><p>There was park down ways from there, and they sat down on the grass, feasting on the food with their bare hands. Or, well, Gilbert was feasting. Bash was eating slowly and not a lot, for all that he’d boasted about his mother’s cooking. </p><p>Gilbert pursed his lips. He didn’t want to push Bash further. It already seemed like the entire encounter with his mom took something out of him, left his insides hollow and his exterior hard and unbreachable. </p><p>“This is really good, what is this thing?” Gilbert asked, pulling something green out of the food.</p><p>Bash barely looked. “That’s thyme.” </p><p>“And this?” </p><p>Bash sighed. “Corn meal dumpling.” </p><p>Gilbert nodded. “It’s amazing,” he said, and when Bash did nothing more than hum in agreement and turn back to his own food, Gilbert decided it might be wise to shut up. </p><p>They had the rest of the meal in silence. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Growing Good of the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A marriage happens, followed by a long overdue apology.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A short piece, to get me back into the groove of writing this fic. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Will you kill me if I ask you to dance?” </p><p>Anne looked up. Everyone looked askew by this point, but Gilbert, of course, despite losing his coat, still looked like a dapper forties gentleman, suspenders and all. Anne was a little tipsy, but that didn’t properly account for her good mood. She’d been feeling this way all day, a quiet contentment settled in her bones. </p><p>Anne Shirley Cuthbert, future teacher. It sounded good. She wondered if it was the same way Mary felt when she heard Mrs. Mary LaCroix. Like something right was happening. Everything about this day was right, blessed and auspicious, the bright sun and Mary’s beaming face and the daisies threaded through her hair. </p><p>Even this seemed right, Gilbert in front of her, hand held out.</p><p>Anne could feel it. It was time to make amends. </p><p>She slipped her hand into his and smiled up at him wryly. “Only one way to find out, right?” </p><p>“Well, it’s not like there are any iced coffees around here.” Gilbert guided her up and onto the dance floor, one hand slipping easily to her waist. The dj was playing some jazzy number, slow and upbeat and swinging. It made it easy to sway casually instead of worrying about stepping on Gilbert’s foot. There was a moment of silence between them, save for their footsteps scuffing on the dance floor. </p><p>And then, “I’m sorry, Gilbert.” </p><p>This close, she could feel more than see the way he tensed, then relaxed. </p><p>“You’re sorry? What for?” </p><p>She pulled back a little, just enough to frown up at him. “You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know. I know I’ve been kind of a bitch this semester.” </p><p>Gilbert considered that. “That doesn’t sound like a Anne Shirley Cuthbert kind of word. Shall we say… temperamental?” </p><p>Anne snorted. “Would that be T-E-M-P-<em>E-</em>R-A-M-E-N-T-A-L?”</p><p>Gilbert sighed. “You forget an E one time.” </p><p>“One time is enough, Mr. Blythe,” Anne said. </p><p>Gilbert wrinkled his nose, grinning. And then his face softened. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I knew whatever it was, it couldn’t have been with bad intentions.” </p><p>Anne pursed her lips, looking down. “It was with bad intentions. I was… jealous, that you knew what you wanted to be already. I was worried that I didn’t.” </p><p>“Was? Not anymore?” </p><p>Anne looked up, helpless against the smile that bloomed on her face. “No need to be worried any more. I’ve decided what I want to be. I want to be a teacher. Just like Dr. Stacy.” </p><p>Gilbert smirked. “Tragical romance and all?”  </p><p>Anne tilted her head, raising her eyebrows. “That remains to be seen.” </p><p>Behind them, the DJ switched to another song, faster than the last. </p><p>But Anne and Gilbert still swayed. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I didn't put Gil's iconic line to be with his family! I'm crying on the inside. But honestly it just didn't work the way that their conversation flowed here, and I imagine it would probably come up after. The problem is that I couldn't help but end on "That remains to be seen," so here we are. </p><p>I've decided to probably end the season 2 drabbles here, unless I get any more sudden bouts of inspiration, or a request. I'll probably start thinking of season 3 scenes I want to do, so if anyone has any ideas, as always, leave a comment or a message!</p><p>Have a happy Monday everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Painful Eagerness of Unfed Hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Bash didn’t really know what to think about the scrawny pale roommate he was stuck with on the ship. As a rule, he was more than a little wary of white people who came into the same spaces that people like him did, wide eyed, like this was an adventure and not a fact of life for people like him. He was pretty sure this was part of that teenage rebellion that white people seemed so fond of, and that he couldn’t afford. Apart from anything else, his mother would’ve whooped him if she found out he was screwing up his life on purpose. </i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I did say I was done, and to be fair, I thought I was. And then I looked through the comments again, saw Tothelibrary's request and got inspired again. Proof that comments are amazing and are like a rocket booster to my inspiration. To everyone that has already commented, I love you and thank you so much. To anyone who is about to comment, I love you and thank you so much. </p><p>As always, not beta read, and so all mistakes are my own.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bash didn’t really know what to think about the scrawny pale roommate he was stuck with on the ship. As a rule, he was more than a little wary of white people who came into the same spaces that people like him did, wide eyed, like this was an adventure and not a fact of life for people like him. He was pretty sure this was part of that teenage rebellion that white people seemed so fond of, and that he couldn’t afford. Apart from anything else, his mother would’ve whooped him if she found out he was screwing up his life on purpose. </p><p>Well, at least she would whenever she found time to care. </p><p>“What your parents think about you doing this? Working on a cruise liner?” he asked Blythe despite himself one day. </p><p>The white boy stopped singing for one blessed minute to answer. “I wouldn’t know.” His eyes were dead set on the towels in front of him, but apart from that he didn’t look much disturbed, just rather resigned.  </p><p>Bash furrowed his eyebrows. “What you mean, ‘you wouldn’t know?’ You didn’t tell them or what?” </p><p>Gilbert shrugged, grabbing another towel and folding it in even, practiced motions. “I did. Don’t know whether they heard. Depends on whether you believe in the afterlife, I guess.” </p><p>It took a second for Bash to understand. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>Gil smiled at him, reassuringly. Which made no sense. Shouldn’t Bash be the one to reassure? Apparently not. “Don’t worry about it.” Which again, made no sense. Why was Blythe worrying about Bash worrying? </p><p>There was something seriously up with this kid. </p><p>“What about your other family? They don’t care?” </p><p>Gilbert shook his head. “Same problem applies.” </p><p><em>You gotta be kidding me</em>. “You’re a walking tragedy, aren’t you, Blythe?” For a second he was worried that he’d been a touch too callous, but Gilbert just grinned. </p><p>“A girl I know would call me ‘positively tragical.’”</p><p>Bash didn’t know why a label like that would make Blythe smile, but he was starting to understand that this kid was full of more crazy than he was going to be able to decipher just yet. </p><p>🙚🙘</p><p>Florida wasn’t new to Bash, but it clearly was new to Gilbert. Bash didn’t think it held a candle up to <em>his</em> island, but he supposed Gilbert was allowed to be star struck given it was his first time. </p><p>What ever he was star struck about, however, it definitely wasn’t the inebriated, scantily clad girls. If he didn’t look at them that would be one thing. But Gilbert did look. He didn’t look at their bodies, the curve of their hips. He looked into their eyes, and dipped his head like he was some regency gentleman tipping his hat. It made more than one girl look taken aback. </p><p>They stepped into a grimy looking bar, clearly not popular for its ambiance, but rather its moderately racist Trinidadian theme and the sign claiming half price shots on Saturdays. Despite the bars many, <em>many</em> negative qualities, and it’s place on the edge of the wrong side of town, it was oddly the one place that had the most authentic tasting babaash. </p><p>There was a gaggle of women struggling with the door, clearly drunk enough that they were more falling on the door than pushing out it. Bash stepped out of the way of the flailing limbs, while Gilbert rushed over with a “let me help you, ma’am,” that was so sincere that it broke through the ladies’ drunken stupor long enough for them to stumble back. And then Gilbert held the door open and nodded at every woman that staggered through with a “Ma’am” or a “you have a good night, now” like he was a doorman at a five star restaurant getting paid in proportion to his courtesy. The women blinked at him as they walked past, and the last one out the door ruffled Gilbert’s hair and hiccuped, “Good boy,” as she tripped past. Gilbert helped her steady and then finally closed the door, turning back just in time to catch Bash shaking his head and grinning. </p><p>Gilbert frowned at him. “What?” </p><p>Bash barked out a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Were your manners beat into ya, boy? You look like you just about to offer to help these ladies with their coats!” </p><p>Gilbert scoffed. “They’re not wearing any coats.” </p><p>“Oh, but if they were, you’d offer to help them into them?” Bash said, raising an eyebrow. The expression brought out a pinched look to Gilbert’s face, and Gilbert pursed his lips. </p><p>“Well, <em>yes</em>, because that’s the right thing to—” At the sight of Bash’s incredulous face, he let out a breath, grumbling out, “Never mind.” </p><p>Bash snorted. “Not necessarily a bad thing, Blythe. Most men would try to take these women out of their coats, not into them.” </p><p>Gilbert shrugged. “Yeah, well you try breaching etiquette around Mrs. Lynde and see what happens. It might as well have been beat into me, I guess.” </p><p>Bash thought that was a rather paltry excuse to brush off Gilbert’s innate niceness. Sure, he wasn’t nice enough to stop singing through his chores, in the shower, and one memorable time, in his <em>sleep</em>—but he had an innate respect for everybody he came across, even ones that most people forgot. He noticed the cleaning staff, he thanked them for their work. If someone was struggling to carry something, he wouldn’t even pause a beat before changing directions to help them all the way to their destination. He was a testament to small town manners, and yet Bash didn’t think all of it was due to where he was from. Gilbert was just <em>like that</em>. </p><p>Like he said. What a <em>weird</em> kid. </p><p>“Why are we here anyway?” </p><p>Bash shrugged. “Tradition, I suppose. I come here every year, get some babaash. First cruise job wasn’t to Trinidad. After a year, I missed it, came here.”</p><p>Gilbert looked around through the haze of smoke from the rickety smoke machine, gaze tracing the tacky “Carnivale” themed mask hanging from the ceiling. “No offense, but this doesn’t really look much like Trinidad.” </p><p>Bash rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no kidding.” He took a seat at the counter. “Wasn’t here for the decor. I came here for the babaash.” </p><p>Gilbert mouthed the word <em>babaash</em> to himself, and when meaning didn’t come immediately apparent, he turned to Bash. “What’s that?” </p><p>Bash smirked. “Nothing for little doux-douxes like you, Blythe. This is a man’s drink. Have one sip and you’ll be sprouting like a weed. You want some orange juice? Maybe a water?” </p><p>Surprisingly Gilbert didn’t flinch, shrugging. “Yeah, sure, you want to order some for me?” </p><p>Bash frowned. It hadn’t been a longer trek than they’d done before, but maybe Blythe was feeling a little thirsty. Bash raised a finger to call for the bartender, and in the split second that his arm was raised, Gilbert swiped his drink from right out in front of him. </p><p>“Gilbert, don’t—” But it was too late. Gilbert had downed the whole damn thing. If he didn’t look like he was about to die from it, Bash would almost be impressed. </p><p>Gilbert choked. “Who’s a man, now—” He coughed again, gagging, and lost the rest of his sentence. </p><p>The next second saw him sprinting for the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>Gilbert was well on his way to truly drunk. Apparently he was a lightweight, and even if he wasn’t, the babaash at that bar wasn’t for the faint of heart. </p><p>He lurched down the street, singing, <em>again</em>. </p><p>Bash should’ve known.</p><p>At this point, taking sips of the babaash he had poured into his flask was more self defense than anything. He couldn’t be properly drunk if he had to take care of the kid, but he sure as hell couldn’t be stone cold sober enough to deal with the singing.  </p><p>“Blythe, you don’t stop singing I’m going to cut your tongue offa you.” </p><p>Gilbert giggled. “You just don’t—hic—appreciate my talent!” </p><p>“They don’t call that talent,” Bash grumbled. </p><p>Gilbert snorted, pointing at Bash. “I don’t believe you. You said I wasn’t a man. Would a baby—hic—drink all that babaash?” </p><p>Bash snorted. “A baby would get drunk off it, and so you’re proving my point.”</p><p>Gilbert wrinkled his nose, and then his passion for music over took him away, and he mumbled some of the lyrics before bursting out, “And then I met an irish girl, she damn near drove me crazy, to me, way haul away—” </p><p>Bash needed to divert him again, and quick. “Who’s this song about, eh? That red headed girl, Anne?” </p><p>Gilbert wrinkled his nose. “Anne? She… she threw an iced coffee at me. ‘Cause I called her… Carrots. Her hair isn’t like carrots though. It’s more like… what’s that color, huh? Like Spider man.” </p><p>Bash raised his eyebrows. “Red?” </p><p>Gilbert nodded. “Red. But not <em>red</em> red, you know? It’s like…” He trailed off, looking into the middle distance. </p><p>“Like?” Bash prompted. </p><p>Gilbert shook his head. “I don’t know. But it looked kind of nice, you know. Like a bird or the sun or something, like. Warm. Or like fire. Heh, that’s funny. Because Carrots has a fiery temper. F-I-E-R-Y! I spelled it!” </p><p>Bash patted him on the back, tamping down a laugh. “Good job, Blythe. Real proud of you.” </p><p>Gilbert beamed. “Thank you! I remembered the E!” And then he threw his arms around Bash, and Bash let out a huff of breath. Mawga boy was <em>heavy</em>. He adjusted Gilbert into a more proper position when it seemed like Gilbert wasn’t going to let go, and Gilbert nuzzled into Bash’s t-shirt like a puppy. Figuring the same rules applied, Bash pet his head, leading them forward. </p><p>Gilbert started humming again, so Bash blurted out, “You must really like this girl, eh, doux-doux?” </p><p>“Don’t call me a doux-doux. And Anne’s just a friend.” </p><p>“Only doux-douxes don’t admit when they gone over a girl. No friend makes you smile and act like a moke.” </p><p>“I’m not a moke either,” Gilbert grumbled. </p><p>And then Bash saw salvation in the form of a neon green sign advertising a motel up ahead. He hefted Gilbert up, steeling himself. </p><p>“Come on, doux-doux, let’s get you to bed.” </p><p> </p><p>There was a strange sound in the morning, so strange Bash was sure it must’ve be a dream. If it was a dream it most definitely must’ve be a nightmare, because it sounded like a girl's muffled screams, and it was coming from way too close to his head to be real life. </p><p>Bash blinked an eye open, and knew immediately that the headache and the crusty eyes had nothing to do with a hangover. If it was, this amount of sun would be sending his stomach roiling. No, this unpleasantness was just a side effect of his late night and it being too damn early. </p><p>The cause of his headache, perpetually and seemingly forever amen, was snoring in the bed beside him, curled up into a ball. </p><p>The noise hadn’t stopped. </p><p>Bash felt alertness hit him like a slap in the face. </p><p>He scrambled out of the tangle of blankets, nearly braining himself on the shitty laminate bedside table, and Gilbert blinked into wakefulness and groans. Bash hesitates for a minute. Gilbert is just a kid, and it wouldn’t be fair to drag him into Bash’s potentially dangerous Good Samaritan situation. Then he remembered the kind of person Gilbert was. If it was potentially dangerous and involved unusual amounts of human decency, Gilbert would attract it like a magnet. And besides, it would be better to have another body behind him on this one, and Gilbert, for all his manners, <em>did</em> grow up on the edge of rugged Canadian wilderness.</p><p>“Blythe, come on, up,” he said, and something about Bash’s tone made Gilbert snap to attention and follow him out into the hallway, despite the way his head must’ve been killing him. It might have been the sounds, which were starting to increase in volume and frequency. </p><p>They were coming from the room next door, which is why Bash could hear it so close with the motel’s paper thin walls. The door was a little more insulated, however, which explained why someone didn’t complain yet. </p><p>Bash knocked on the door. The whimpering quieted, but only slightly. Bash knocked again, and followed it up with, “I’m not hotel management, I’m not here to report anything. Is there anything I can do to help?” There was a pause, and then Bash knocked again. </p><p>The girl that opened the door was young, eyes peering through the crack, wide and dark. </p><p>At the sight of Gilbert, she flinched. </p><p>Bash understood the urge. “It’s okay,” he said, hoping to draw her eye to him. “He’s here to help too.” </p><p>She blinked, and then pulled open the door. She was wearing a tank top and yoga pants, and her hair was matted to her face with sweat or tears, Bash couldn’t tell. She was clearly quite young. Behind her the whimpering continued. She took a shuddering breath, and whispered to them. “It’s my sister. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” </p><p>Gilbert and Bash walked into the room, where a woman was lying on the floor, the blankets strewn across the floor, like she kicked them off herself. She was also heavily pregnant, and by the stain all down the front of her night gown, either her water broke or she was bleeding. </p><p>At the sight of them, she sobbed and pushed herself further into the corner of the room. “Dori, no, <em>no, no…</em>” She groaned out. </p><p>Bash stared, wide eyed. “Do you need to take her to a hospital?” </p><p>The younger girl shook her head quickly, and the woman’s refusals grew louder. “No, we can’t, we… we don’t have health insurance.” </p><p>Bash took in her face, the features that could easily lend themselves to a Hispanic heritage, and felt his face grow stony, helplessness welling up in his chest. He knew better than to assume, but this <em>was</em> Florida. He could infer the circumstances this girl might be going through. </p><p>Bash opened and closed his mouth. He didn’t know what to say. He did offer help to the girl, but in this situation, what exactly was he supposed to do? He opened his mouth again, to tell her he could probably offer comfort and not much else, but before he could, Gilbert was pushing past him and rolling up his sleeves. </p><p>The woman flinched, crawling away from him, but Gilbert didn’t pause. “Bash, go get some towels and a container of hot water. Young miss, it’s… Dori, is it?” </p><p>The girl nodded. “Alright, can you get your sister to lie on her back for me, maybe calm her down, as much as you can? We’ll be right back, your sister is going to be okay, alright?” </p><p>Dori nodded, relief overtaking her features as she moved toward her sister, drawing her into place. Bash stayed where he was, frozen, until Gilbert grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bathroom. </p><p>Once they were in the bright lights of the bathroom, the reality of the situation hit him. “Are you out of your mind? How can you promise that this woman is going to be okay?” </p><p>“I’ve helped deliver before.” </p><p>Bash stared at him, and Gilbert admitted reluctantly, “Foals, not humans. But we’re all this girl has got, and I know I can do this.” </p><p>“Gilbert,” Bash said, choked. “You’re just a kid.” </p><p>Gilbert looked him dead in the eye, and Bash was hit with the full force of that steel that seemed to be hidden under all those small town mannerisms and naivete. “I’m doing this with or without you. Are you with me?” </p><p>There was only one thing Bash could say to that. “Towels and hot water, you said?” </p><p>When they got back into the room, whatever Dori seemed to be doing to calm down her sister didn’t seem to be working. The woman was thrashing in pain. Gilbert rushed to her side, and the woman cringed away from even the barest threat of accidental contact. Gilbert spread a sheet over the lower half of her body, managing to do it without touching her in the least. And then he looked up to meet her eyes.  </p><p>“Ma’am. Ma’am, it’s going to be okay, you hear me?” </p><p>“No police. <em>No police</em>,” the woman groaned, and Gilbert nodded. </p><p>“No police, ma’am, I promise.” </p><p>“She doesn’t speak English,” Dori said. </p><p>Gilbert nodded. “Okay, can you translate?” Dori nodded, and Gilbert said, “Please let her know that we’re here to help, and that we won’t touch her without her permission.” </p><p>Dori translated, and Bash picked up on the Spanish, from what half of the language he knew. The woman turned to Bash then, looking at him imploringly, and Bash straightened up, coming closer. “<em>Usted puede…” </em>Crap he didn’t know the word for trust in Spanish. He tried again. “<em>El es muy bueno. Es mi hermano.</em> He’s my brother.” He added, in case he translated brother wrong. He was hoping she understood enough English to get what he was trying to convey. </p><p>“Senora?” Gilbert prompted, fumbling over the syllables. It was clear he didn’t ever take the bare minimum of a Spanish class in his life, or maybe it was the innate way that all white people pronounced foreign words, but the woman seemed reassured that he was trying. He looked down at the sheet, asking without words, and the woman nodded. </p><p>Gilbert took in a sharp breath, lifting the sheet just enough to get a hand under it. “Let her know I’m checking the dilation.” When Dori seemed confused he clarified, “How wide the canal is, whether the baby can come through yet.” Dori translated, and the woman made a sharp sound of assent or pain, Bash couldn’t tell which. She scrambled to find his hand, squeezing it hard enough to make the bones nearly break. </p><p>Bash knew better than to make a noise. </p><p>Gilbert’s eyes widened, and he turned to Bash. “The baby, it’s in the wrong position.” </p><p>“What does that mean?” Dori asked, frantic. The woman tightened her grip on Bash’s hand again.</p><p>“They can’t be delivered like this, we’re going to have to turn him around.” He turned to the woman, putting on a reassuring smile. “What’s your name, Senora?” </p><p>The woman understood enough to choke out, “Ruth, <em>me llamo </em>Ruth.” </p><p>“Ruth,” Gilbert repeated. “Dori, please tell her that we’re going to turn the baby around, to get him into the right position.” Dori repeated what he said, and Ruth cried out, spitting rapid fire Spanish too hard for Bash to understand. Gilbert didn’t falter. </p><p>“Ma’am. I mean, Senora. It’s okay. Your baby’s going to be fine. I was a breech baby too, and I turned out just fine. The baby’s going to be perfectly okay.” Dori translated automatically, but apparently she didn’t need to, because Bash could see Ruth relax before Gilbert even finished his sentence, apparently based on his tone and expression, more than anything else. </p><p>Births were messy, and traumatizing when you weren’t in a hospital, let alone when you were trusting a skinny, pasty twenty-two-year-old who had zero medical experience in a shady motel room. If you asked Bash anytime later, the adrenaline would make it hard to remember what exactly happened. He only knew things logically. That Ruth had left bruises on his hand, that he was terrified the entire time. That toward the end they’d moved Ruth into the bathtub to facilitate the birth, and that was where the baby was born, covered in blood and mucus and squalling at the indignity of it all. </p><p>Bash felt like he was experiencing the whole thing outside of himself. He’d been to various countries and places and met so many people, but he was never going to forget Ruth’s face as they gave her the baby, and Gilbert’s triumphant look lighting up his face, despite his raggedy appearance. </p><p>They helped Dori clean up, as much as they could, and made sure Ruth was situated comfortably on the bed, her baby tucked up by her side. And then they staggered out the door, heading back to their own motel room feeling as if an age had passed. </p><p>It was only 9:50 in the morning. </p><p>What the actual hell. </p><p>It took until they had showered, passed out, woke up again, and had barely enough time for a hasty lunch before they had to be back on ship, for Bash to talk about it. </p><p>“You were a breech baby, huh?” He asked. </p><p>“Yeah,” Gilbert said. He seemed tired, despite the three hour nap. Not that Bash could blame him. But he was becoming an expert on Gilbert Blythe and he could tell this wasn’t just the regular tiredness of an early morning, but rather something bone-deep. Bash stayed silent for a moment, waiting him out, and Gilbert sighed. “I was. That’s one of the reasons why my mother didn’t make it.” </p><p>Bash nodded, and took that as it was. “You did good, Blythe.” </p><p>That seemed to brighten Gilbert up a bit, and he smiled, looking up at the sky. “It went well, didn’t it? I’m just glad they’re both okay.”</p><p>Bash ruffled his hair. “Thanks to you, 'Dr. Blythe.'” </p><p>Gilbert startled, and then looked up at him, eyes snapping to meet his. “That’s it! I know what I could be!” </p><p>“A doctor?” Bash asked. A curl of dread was unfurling in his stomach, buried underneath his overwhelming happiness for Gilbert. Bash could see Gilbert visibly latching onto the idea, the thought of it making his eyes gleam and his spine straighten. Within a moment, the boy was off, babbling about the reasons that it would work perfectly, any concerns that he would have to mitigate it. </p><p>It was like Gilbert was already gone, despite being right next to Bash. Bash could see him now, far away, in his small town college, where Bash would become nothing more than a “remember when.” Bash didn’t know from where Gilbert had creeped up so suddenly, had taken a place in Bash’s heart so vast that the thought of him leaving made Bash miss him with this terrible ache. </p><p>Bash didn’t know at what point he started thinking of Gilbert less as his friend, and more as his brother.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If anyone has any requests for any scenes they can leave a message in my inbox, <a href="https://thesenseinnonsense.tumblr.com/">here</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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